Lyra
Tristan didn't move. Not at first. His gaze lingered on the journal I held close to my chest, his face unreadable. The air between us hummed with a strange tension that made the room feel even smaller than it was. And then, he stepped forward, just a few inches, his hand reaching out like it had a mind of its own.
"You're not alone in this," he repeated, this time more firmly. "Tell me what it says."
I glanced down at the journal, then back at him. "I don't think you're ready for the truth." My voice was barely above a whisper. I didn't know why it felt so dangerous to speak it out loud, but it did. The knowledge felt heavy, like I was carrying a part of my mother's death that had never been mine to hold.
He didn't hesitate. "We've been walking around lies for too long, Lyra. And whatever this is, you don't have to carry it alone. I can help."
I met his eyes—those cold, calculating eyes that always felt like they were watching, analyzing, never quite letting go of the mask he wore. For a moment, I saw the edge of something beneath it: concern. Maybe even something softer, something closer to human than I had ever seen from him before.
I swallowed hard, then lowered the journal. "My mother wasn't sick," I said quietly, letting the words settle between us. "She died because she got too close to the truth."
Tristan didn't speak right away. He just looked at me, processing, until the silence stretched too long.
"She found out the curse wasn't just a curse." I took a shaky breath. "It was a weapon. Something designed by the Consuls to control the bloodlines. To make sure we couldn't ever escape their grasp."
His gaze darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. "You're telling me they made it up?"
"They didn't just make it up. They used my great-grandmother as a pawn. She defied them, loved a man beneath her status. And they punished her. All of us. This—" I tapped the journal softly, "—was my mother's attempt to break the chain. But it killed her."
Tristan's expression was unreadable, his jaw tight as though he were holding something back. "So, they wanted you to be cursed? To keep you under control?"
I nodded. "Yes. It's not just a family curse, it's a Consul curse. They orchestrated it all."
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration flickering in his eyes. "Damn them. So, what do we do now? You can't carry this alone, Lyra. If this is their doing, we find a way to tear it down."
I shook my head slowly, feeling the weight of the truth settle in my chest. "It's more complicated than that. My mother... she was close, but she didn't have enough to stop it. She tried to find a way, but the Consuls are always one step ahead."
A silence fell between us, thick and suffocating. I could feel the fear creeping in, the fear of what this would mean for both of us. But it was quickly replaced by something else—a surge of determination. A need to do something. Anything.
"We need to find a way," I whispered. "We need to find what she was missing."
Tristan exhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing. "Then we'll start looking. Whatever it takes."
I almost believed him. For a moment, I almost believed he would follow through. But something deep within me, something born from years of playing this game, told me not to get too comfortable with the idea. Tristan was dangerous—not because he was evil, but because he was always calculating, always looking for the next advantage.
I nodded, and the tension between us shifted, just slightly. There was something unspoken hanging in the air now—an understanding. The curse had already pulled us into a dangerous game, and now, we had no choice but to keep playing.
"Let's find out what my mother knew," I said, my voice steady despite the storm brewing inside me.
He nodded, but there was a coldness behind his gaze again, a wariness I couldn't quite place. It was as if he was already thinking three steps ahead—already planning the next move.